CD Review: Alexa Woodward - Weary

CD Review: Alexa Woodward - Weary

Back in 2009, I was taken by Alexa Woodward’s album Speck. While she is New York City-based, Woodward’s spare, rustic sound feels drawn from her Southern roots (she grew up in Virginia and South Carolina).
Her latest offering It's a Good Life, Honey, If You Don't Grow Weary (available online in February) is a joy to listen to. She does a terrific job of gently fleshing out her sound while retaining its delicate Americana sound. Woodward plays banjo and ukulele; however, her songs make use of vibephones, cello, washboard, percussions and even some electric instruments. An electric guitar, for instance, howls in the background of “Wolves” to compliment its title and its eerie tale.
Her music nicely balances old-timey and contemporary elements. Her songs, which are frequently relationship-based, mix images of the past and the present “All That Sugar” holds the line “and I bet you don’t have good sex/when your blood’s all full of gold,“ while in “Elephant,” she tells an ex-lover that “I hope Nina treats you right/that Copenhagen’s kind /that you sleep sound every night” among fanciful imagery of traveling over mountains and water.
Throughout the disc, Woodward displays a strong lyrical command. She begins “O Tornado” with “drive across the county line/Salinger and Andrew Wyeth/betwixt, between the time/where the frozen clocks are awful quiet” and doesn’t come across as a freshman lit major. “Pillar of Salt” similarly shows a deft poetic touch as she mixes biblical references and emotional revelations.
When Woodward harmonizes with frequent collaborator Linky Dickson, they suggest a more rural version of the Roches. Abigail Washburn and Gillian Welch also serve as touch points here; however, Woodward forges her own sound – something that’s modern and timeless, lilting and melancholic - during this thoroughly delightful disc. With her exquisitely crafted third effort, Woodward seems on poised for big things.

The Good Word on Alexa Woodward

I have been intrigued with Alexa Woodward’s new album Speck, so I went to see her perform at her recent Los Angeles appearance at the intimate Genghis Cohen – and it was a very rewarding experience. The banjo-picking Woodward’s songs are like mountain music with an MFA. References to Tolstoy and Harper Lee slip into her dark-hued, old-timey tunes; however, she’s doesn’t sound liked an affected musical anthropologist appropriating native backwoods sounds. Although based out of New York City, Woodward grew up in Virginia and South Carolina so there is an easy naturalness to her rural porch music. An easy reference would be the stripped down Americana styling of Gillian Welch. Hearing her live, I came to appreciate the way Woodward’s honeyed singing voice dips and soars. Her phrasing and harmonizing (she was frequently accompanied on vocals by her washboard-playing sidekick Linky Dickson) also brought to mind to Roches, as did her endearing stage presence. She shared some funny tales of touring misadventures, like trying to sleep in a WalMart parking lot that was blaring Whitney Houston. But what really grabbed me is how her singing and lyrics blend together to make for spare, haunting music. There’s an earthy ethereal quality to tunes like “Window” “Spoon” and “Speck.” After several songs that held murder ballad imagery like “her blood was melancholy” and “a speck of blood for the birds and the bees,” she lightened the tone with the “Plants” (she apparently likes one word titles). This rather upbeat tune, which celebrates her time living in a community house with some 20 other folks, offers that urban gardener rallying cry “plants growing in the city!” With its quiet folksy sound, Speck might be easy to overlook, but Alexa Woodward impresses both in concert and on disc, making her someone for Americana connoisseurs to keep an eye on.